The Song of the Shadows

The reputation of the Phantom of the Alleys was growing in Grisel, a whisper of terror spreading from the darkest corners of the Weaver's Nest to the sewers where lost souls crawled.

After the massacre in the sewers, where the cultists of the Devourers of Innocence had been dismembered with chilling efficiency, Kaelen had become a name that even the guild foremen spoke with cautious respect.

There was no mercy in his eyes, only the cold logic of predation.

---

The song of the shadows in his mind was no longer a mere whisper; it had become a constant chorus, a symphony of voices that revealed the world to him in a way no one else could perceive.

They were not just combat advice; they were whispers about hidden rot, about weaknesses in flesh and metal, about the deepest fears of those he faced.

And with that new "vision," came new powers, grotesque manifestations of his madness, tools forged in the abyss of his soul.

---

It was during a "debt collection" mission, a simple assignment to subdue a merchant who thought himself untouchable, that the first of these new abilities fully manifested.

The merchant, an obese and sweaty man, had barricaded himself in his warehouse, flanked by two guards armed with heavy maces.

"I have nothing for you, guild rats!" growled the merchant, his voice trembling despite his bravado.

Kaelen stepped forward, followed by Seraphina, who watched with an expectant smile, her icy blue eyes fixed on Kaelen.

The guards tensed. Kaelen said nothing.

He simply extended a hand, his pale and slender fingers, toward a sack of grain near the merchant.

He didn't touch it firmly, just a barely perceptible brush.

The voices in his mind, the Vision of Shadow Echo, screamed:

> "Rot! Undo it! Show them the horror!"

Within seconds, the fabric of the sack, once sturdy, began to darken, to lose shape.

A sour and nauseating stench of mold and decomposition filled the air.

The grain inside turned into a blackish, bubbling mush, as if it had been rotting for weeks under a scorching sun.

The fabric tore with a wet sound, and the disgusting contents spilled onto the floor, attracting flies from nowhere.

The guards stepped back, nauseated. The merchant vomited noisily on the ground.

The ability Touch of Putrefaction had been born.

---

Kaelen observed his work, a strange satisfaction bubbling in his chest.

The disgust on the men's faces was a language he understood perfectly.

The merchant, trembling, handed over the gold.

The lesson had been learned in a way that physical violence alone would not have achieved.

Seraphina clapped with silent delight, her icy blue eyes shining with admiration.

"Oh, Kaelen. You are… exquisite. Decay itself. I love it."

---

In the following days, Kaelen continued exploring his new manifestations.

He learned to use the Vision of Shadow Echo to track a band of thieves through Grisel, seeing the "stains" of their fears and past aggressions floating in the air.

Even in combat, he could perceive a fraction of a second before the enemy, the echo of their murderous intent, giving him a supernatural advantage.

---

The Malignant Bloodflow manifested in the most brutal way during an encounter with a rival mercenary in a dark alley.

After wounding him in the shoulder with his axe, the mercenary writhed on the ground, blood gushing out.

Kaelen knelt down, extended his hand over the wound, without touching it.

The voices whispered:

> "Open it! Let it flow! Harvest his fear!"

The wound, which was already bleeding, suddenly seemed to expand, the crimson flow intensified with unnatural speed, soaking the cobblestones.

The mercenary screamed, not just from the pain, but from the horror of watching his own life drain so fast.

There was no need for a finishing blow.

He bled to death in seconds, his eyes wide open, fixed on Kaelen.

Seraphina smiled, a smile of ecstasy.

"So elegant, my love. So… final."

---

But not everything was a playground for Kaelen.

As his power grew, a new threat began weaving a web around Grisel, a shadow more cunning than the Oni or the mercenaries.

A name began to circulate among the whispers of the rich and powerful: Lord Silas Vane.

---

Lord Silas Vane was not a warrior.

He was a middle-aged man, slender and elegant, always impeccably dressed in dark silks.

His face was calm, almost handsome, with a short, well-trimmed beard.

His eyes, a deep sapphire color, radiated a cold and calculated intelligence.

He was a noble of the inner court of Grisel, a counselor to the Warden.

No one had ever seen him wield a sword.

But rumors said his power did not lie in muscle, but in the mind.

They spoke of illusions, of words that could twist will, of an influence that spread like subtle poison throughout the city.

The Nest's mercenaries, accustomed to direct brutality, felt a cold unease at the mention of his name.

---

One night, Gorok summoned Kaelen, Seraphina, Darian, and Zoltan.

His scarred face was more tense than usual.

"We've had problems," he growled. "A few informants stopped talking. Or worse, started saying things… that made no sense."

"And the Warden's contracts, which used to come to us, now go elsewhere."

"Who's behind this?" asked Darian.

Zoltan, the Speaker of Shadows, smoothed his dark garments, his onyx eyes deeper than usual.

"A name is rumored: Lord Silas Vane. He's been moving his pieces. Clean, silent. But brutally effective."

His voice had a tone of concern.

"They say his methods… are not of the blade. They are of the mind."

---

Kaelen felt a twinge of interest.

A different predator.

The voices in his head stirred.

> "Challenge! A mind to bend! Destroy him!"

"And what does this Vane want from us?" asked Seraphina, with delight.

Gorok spat on the floor.

"He doesn't want us. He wants to see us fall. To control Grisel from the shadows."

"And we are… a noisy obstacle."

He looked at Kaelen.

"Our next job… is personal."

"A messenger of Vane who's been spying on our movements."

"We need to send a message."

---

The target was a young informant, a scared kid who only wanted to survive, but had been coerced into spying on the guild.

They found him in an abandoned warehouse on the docks.

Darian restrained him with ease, his large hands gripping the boy's arms.

The boy squirmed, his scared brown eyes pleading.

Seraphina leaned in, her face close to his, the demented smile on her lips.

"Poor soul. Just a pawn in a much larger game."

Her voice was a soft whisper.

---

"What do you want to do?" Kaelen asked Gorok, his voice dispassionate.

The Vision of Shadow Echo showed him the boy's fears, the terror of imminent agony.

Gorok shrugged.

"A clear message."

"Let Vane know."

"Let the whole city know."

---

The voices in Kaelen's head became a whirlwind of calculations.

A brutally efficient idea, but it would require a sacrifice.

He looked at the boy, then at Seraphina.

"A message. An example. Use him. Show them. Let them know your madness."

"Leave him to me," said Kaelen, monotone, cold.

"The message will be unforgettable."

Gorok nodded, a cruel smile.

"As you wish, Phantom. Do it… your way."

---

Kaelen approached the boy.

The fear in his eyes was almost palpable.

Kaelen felt neither remorse nor pleasure.

Only logic.

This was necessary.

An opportunity to send a message not only to Vane, but to all of Grisel.

A demonstration of the horror he could inflict.

He extended a hand, pale and slender fingers.

It wasn't a blow. It was a slow, deliberate touch, first on the boy's face.

The voices in his head sang furiously:

> "Feel his fear! Absorb it! Be his torturer!"

The boy shrank back, eyes wide.

Kaelen lowered his hand, sliding a finger slowly down the skin of the boy's neck, barely scraping.

Then he brought his finger to the boy's ear.

---

"It's not for you," Kaelen whispered, strange and calm. "It's for the message."

With a slow, almost elegant motion, Kaelen inserted his finger into the boy's ear canal.

There was no blood, no immediate scream.

Just a tremble.

The boy convulsed, trying to pull away, but Darian held him tight.

Kaelen closed his eyes, concentrating.

The voices in his head guided him, showing him the internal anatomy, the nerves, the balance.

The Vision of Shadow Echo intensified, and Kaelen saw the pressure points, blood vessels, the tiny bones of the inner ear.

The voices screamed the most effective way to break it:

> "Crush it! Twist! Do it slowly! Let him feel every fiber!"

---

Then, Kaelen began to twist his finger, applying gradual and constant pressure.

It wasn't fast.

It was slow, agonizing.

A soft, wet crunch was heard, a sound that made Darian clench his jaw.

The boy let out a guttural scream, muffled by the gag.

His eyes filled with blood.

Tears and mucus mixed on his face.

His body shook violently, spasms of pure terror and pain.

Kaelen kept twisting, crushing more and more, until he felt a burst, a final crunch.

The scream turned into a prolonged, ragged moan.

---

The ability Torment Echo manifested then with brutal force.

Kaelen hadn't just broken his ear, he had infused the boy's mind with absolute terror.

The boy couldn't scream, but his eyes, his disfigured face and convulsing body radiated a fear so intense that Kaelen could feel it, taste it.

The boy's despair was palpable in the air, like a cold mist.

Darian felt a chill that wasn't from the cold.

Even Seraphina, though she smiled, had her eyes wider than usual.

---

Kaelen withdrew his finger.

The boy's ear was a bloody mess.

But he wasn't dead.

He was just broken, his mind shattered by pure horror and pain.

The voices in his head applauded, not with massacre glee, but with a murmur of approval, a dark and deep satisfaction.

> "Well done! The message is clear! Let them tremble!"

---

"Take him back to Vane," said Kaelen, his voice monotone, pointing at the boy writhing on the floor, trembling uncontrollably, eyes staring into nothingness.

"Tell him this is what happens to his pawns."

"And that the Phantom… doesn't play."

Gorok smiled, a grimace of satisfaction.

"Excellent, Phantom. A message Vane won't easily forget."

---

As Kaelen watched them carry the boy away, Seraphina approached him, her face radiant with demented beauty.

Her cold hand rested on his cheek, wiping a drop of blood splattered from the boy's ear.

"Your masterpiece, Kaelen," whispered Seraphina, her voice like silk.

"The pain. The agony. The absolute fear."

"You are a master."

"Isn't it beautiful?"

---

Kaelen looked at her, dark amethyst eyes empty.

He didn't think of beauty.

Only of effectiveness.

Of the message.

He had used a human being, had undone him, not out of anger, but by calculation.

The sacrifice had been justified in his mind.

And in that act of cruel pragmatism, Kaelen felt the line between madness and reality blur even more,

while the song of the shadows became the only language he understood perfectly.

The game of Lord Silas Vane had begun,

and Kaelen was more than ready to play,

with his new and horrible abilities,

in the terrain of pain.

---